Scars II: The Waltz
by samantha-darling
Summary: The sequel to 'Scars'. A night of thinking leads Meryl to what will be her most trying situation to date: Unearthing her buried past to continue on with her future. VXM a long the way, also violence, language, and suggestive scenes.


Something was in the stables. From her bedroom window she could see it's shadow moving on the back wall. It would pace, back and forth, sometimes the silhouette of the unknown creature disappearing, only to reappear a few minutes later. It was thin but tall and it stretched the entire length of the barn window. Her fingers grasped her window pane tightly as she swallowed thickly, fear rising up in the back of her mind. The dark mass was giving her chills, sensations of fright that she hated feeling.  
Before she even knew what she was doing, she was in front of the barn, peering through the ripped open door and into the adequate aisleway between their thomas stalls. The small light bulb in the corner was swinging in an invisible wind, spraying light into all directions of the stable's interior. It was silent, no crunching of thomases eating their hay, no gentle groan as they settled down into their bedding to rest. Her hair rose on end as she moved forward to enter the building. She tried to find her voice to call out to her precious animals but all that came out was a choked gasp. Each and every stall door had been torn violently from its hinges and there were traces of what she knew to be blood spattered on their frames. Her thomases were gone, not a trace was left of them,save for maybe the crimson stains on the walls. A scream was steadily rising from the very depths of her stomach, and as she gripped her abdomen tightly with one hand and clutched her mouth closed with the other, a low growling sound behind her stopped her in her tracks. It continued, sounding like a faraway motor car, but at the same time having that animalistic reverberation. She closed her eyes tightly, shaking violently now, in fear of what could ever be behind her. Slowly, she turned, as if by some magic gear, and as she opened her eyes she was greeted with the sight of-  
  
-a darkened room that stood alone save for the solitary table and accompanying chair. The table and chair almost completely blended in with the room and from her bed, she could only see traces of their outline.  
Meryl Stryfe swiped a complacent hand across her forehead, the feeling of cool sweat on her skin more irritating than if it had been warm. Her dusky black hair was slick against her temples, proof that she had been having a nightmare. Oh well. She was used to it. Surveying the mess of her bed, Meryl absentmindedly ran a hand over the rumpled sheets, bunched about her waist as if she had been twisting and turning. Her bare feet peeked out from the ragged hem of the blue and white linen and she wiggled them as if making sure they were hers.  
Of course they were. What a silly thought, she silently admonished. Millie was the only other soul in the house. Her snores coming from the adjacent room had kept Meryl up many a night, when she wasn't working at the bar, and tonight wasn't an exception. Meryl had went to bed early in hopes of being sound asleep before Millie could ever consider hitting the hay. But it was, unfortunately, not to be so. Millie followed soon after and all that Meryl had gotten was a fitful, restless night and the all-too familiar nightmare that she'd been having ever since Vash had left.  
Vash had left. Left almost two months ago. Sighing, she lifted the sheets, preparing to wander to the kitchen to heat some stale coffee. Yes, Vash had left in the morning, walking off into the sunset like some sort of storybook hero, carrying the extra load of Mr. Wolfwood's forgotten weapon, the Cross Punisher. She watched until his form had become warped by the heat from the sands. Meryl shook her head as she remembered the moment. She probably would have stayed out there all day if it had not been for Millie pulling her inside to eat some sandwiches before they both headed off for work. In fact, Meryl hardly saw Millie anymore. The taller girl worked most of the day and when Meryl was on duty at the bar, she slept. Before Millie returned from her construction job, Meryl had already left for work and by the time she returned, Millie was in bed and the cycle continued. On their rare days off, they'd usually spend the hours indoors, talking, making sandwiches, and listening to the radio to find out if there was possibly any sighting of the now elusive but hardly forgotten Vash the Stampede. Occasionally, they'd go shopping together, laughing like normal 20-something year old women, talking about men and clothes and work. Life had become almost too average and Meryl knew it all too well.  
Before she even realized it, she was in the kitchen, clad only in her trusty pajama shirt, standing beside the table like some sleep-walking psycho in the dark. Shaking her head she flipped the light switch on and made her way to the coffee pot, half full with cold coffee. Meryl sloshed the mixture around in the pot once, nose wrinkling at the thought of consuming it but coffee was coffee and in this hell-hole of a city it was hard to come by. So she bit her lip and poured herself a mug, throwing it onto the stove and turning on the front burner to medium high. As she waited for the heat to come, she seated herself on the tabletop. It was a small action but regardless, Meryl felt awkward doing so. It almost felt un-Meryl like to be sitting on a table instead of on a chair. But...then again...She wasn't really Meryl...was she?  
It wasn't that long ago. It seemed like it. Maybe it was because so much had happened between then and now. The priest had died, Vash had killed, had been to the edge of his sanity and came back, and had left. It just seemed like so much. But it wasn't enough to make her forget. First she had been pretending as Meryl Stryfe, a made-up persona for Meryl Owens, who had also been artificial. She chuckled dryly at the amount of self-worth people placed in their names and their identities and at how she felt like nothing because of her lack of one. Or a real one at least. Who was she really? Would she ever know?  
Meryl let her eyes wander to the window above the kitchen sink, out across the twilighted desert and at some of the twinkling stars. Something tugged at her chest, as if a string had been tied to her heart and had been led out across the sands. The truth was out there somewhere. Ebony had been telling the truth, she knew it, just like she knew she had to find it. Rosemary had known, she must have. If it killed her, Meryl vowed, she would find out too.  
The coffee spilled over on the stove as it bubbled and boiled but it's steaming contents were forgotten as the first traces of sunset prevailed over the sand and only Meryl was awake to see it.  
  
Almost a month later, she was on the opposite side of that window in the kitchen, far atop one of the jagged crags projecting upwards from the mass of sandy dunes. Far below her and her saddled thomas, the early morning silhouettes of a tall, lanky figure with a sack draped heavily upon his shoulder stretched out across the desert floor, preceeding their trek to the small town. She watched in silence, the abrasive breeze blowing her already lengthining black hair into her face, with nothing really to say. She had seen him a few minutes into her morning coffee, though at that time he was just a speck on the melting horizon. Her jaw had tightened, and she realized that it was now or never. She raced into her room as quietly as she could manage. Although Millie's snoring only increased, She fretted while she packed and got dressed, not even pausing to leave a note, only leaving the front door open in her haste as she ran for the stables on the east end of town where they were keeping their thomases.  
Who would have thought that a only few minutes later she'd be watching him edge his way closer into the village? Not her. Not Meryl Stryfe, the law-abiding, dutiful, responsible insurance girl. The person she embodied now definitely wasn't Meryl Stryfe. It might have been Meryl Owens, adventurous and impulsive. It might have been someone else. She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh before taking one last, long look at the figure she knew as Vash the Stampede. Even as she turned and began to walk away, their directions of travel opposite from each other, she thought of how nice it would have been to know him as Vash and nothing else.  
  
Millie felt abandoned. All she could do was stare at the still half-full mug of coffee, haphazardly placed on the corner of the table, and the chair pushed roughly back against the refridgerator. Her eyes regarded the sight with sadness but also with acceptance. She had figured Meryl would leave sooner or later, whether it be sooner or later she couldn't have known. Her shorter counterpart had become restless in a sense. Millie sensed it before Meryl had probably even noticed it herself. She would wake up in the morning looking like she hadn't slept at all, or would take long walks away from town, and when Millie tried accompanying her one time, Meryl had just shook her head, averted her eyes, and said she preferred to walk alone. Millie's first conclusion had been that her friend was tense from Vash's absence and in a way she could still credit it in some way. But not as much so as Meryl's absence of herself. The girl wasn't done looking and as much as Millie wanted to help, the taller girl just knew that it wasn't her place.  
Almost non-chalantly, she closed the door leading out onto the porch, effectively cutting out the sunshine pouring in. There was nobody in the street today. It was a Sunday, the day when all the townspeople stayed in their homes until at least noon. No one worked today, even the bars were shut, and the dirt street stood empty and disgustingly alone. It was how Millie felt. Empty, alone. She seated herself on the awkward chair in the middle of the kitchen floor, grasping Meryl's unfinished coffee, and took a large gulp. It went down easy but it was cold and stale, and only the faint taste of sugar and cream remained in the mix. But she drank it up anyway, trying to decide what to do with herself now. Bernardelli had stopped contact with them long ago and as far as she knew, Meryl's beloved typewriter was still in the closet on the shelf awaiting it's next use. Perhaps she would write a letter to Bernardelli explaining things and then head back to December to the office and her forgotten apartment. Or maybe she would just let Bernardelli worry and head home. Home sounded good right now.  
As Millie stood to set the mug in the sink, There was a faint knocking, and then the door opened. It's resounding click echoed throughout the silence of the house, a noise easy to miss but not this morning. Millie didn't even care that she was clad only in her pajamas. She stepped out of the kitchen into the hall and looked soundlessly at the dusty, dirty, bloody mess of a man in the doorframe. A wrapped up sack of something hung over his shoulder, and from her viewpoint, Millie couldn't tell if it was the sack that was bleeding or the blonde.  
"Mr. Vash.."She whispered before what could be called the normal Millie came roaring back into the picture. "Oh! Mr. Vash, you're bleeding! And you look like a mess!" The blonde outlaw grinned weakly at Millie's outburst and managed a forced chuckle as another surge of pain ripped through his shoulder like a fish hook. "Nice to see you too, Big girl. Where's that extra bed of yours?"  
"It's in the back room, like it usually is. But - "Vash stepped around her, his shoulder screaming at him to put Knives down somewhere. But even so he walked up right without any hint that he was in agony. As he passed, Millie saw the tips of platinum hair peek out from the material and a hand sway gently with Vash's movements. Her eyes widened and instinctively she followed Vash into the bedroom and watched mesmerized as he set the body of his twin down onto the mattress. On both arms and legs were white bandages, wrapped tightly and stained with dried blood. Vash moved to change the dressings and Millie caught him wince as his shoulder twist. "Now just you wait, Mr. Vash. Let me see your shoulder." Like a douting mother hen, Millie kneeled beside the seated Vash and looked at the bullet hole.  
"It just stings a little. That's all." Vash admitted. Millie eyed him precariously, then shrugged.  
"I don't care if it just stings. You can't leave something like this open. It'll get infected. Let me go get the first aid kit."  
  
The bandage work Millie had done was superb. Vash lightly ran a hand over the spot as he finished buttoning his new shirt. It was nice to get out of that hot and dirty body suit and have a nice, breezy pair of normal clothes on. He sighed in mild contentment and stood up from the chair in the corner. Knives was settled, for now. Occasionally, like a waxing and waning radio signal, Vash would hear his screaming in his mind, testament to his knowledge that Knives was still very much awake in a sense. His chest rose and fell evenly as he slept, his wounds healing as he took each breath, tissue slowly repairing itself, cells slowly forming to make more. It was the same thing with Vash although it wouldn't take as long as it would with Knives, whose wounds were more severe. From underneath the white starch shirt, Vash's stomach complained of its emptiness, and the sound felt almost too loud in the silence of the room. With one last look at the prone form of his brother, He left the room and wandered into the kitchen, where a now dressed Millie was doing dishes. A box of donuts were set in the middle of the table along with a pitcher of milk and one glass. Vash smiled lightly. With the feelings of familiarity and happiness to be back in the company of the girls, he felt like he was missing something. The house was much too quiet, Millie much too sedated. Something was wrong.  
"Hey Big girl." He said as he sat down. Millie turned from the soapy sink and gave him a smile.  
"I'm glad to see you're dressed and looking better, Mr. Vash. You gave me such a scare when you walked through the door like that."  
"I suppose I did. Where's Small girl?" At once, Mille's smile fell and, like something akin to a pebble being dropped in a glass of water, something dropped in Vash's stomach. It might have been his heart. "She's..okay, isn't she?" He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to know or not. Millie shook her head and drained the sink. She began to dry her hands on a nearby towel and she seated herself across from Vash. Not meeting his eyes she began.  
"For the past couple of weeks, maybe more like the past month, she was acting weird, distant. We rarely saw each other because of our work schedules but even when we were together, she just didn't seem right. She always wanted to be alone, she always seemed to be thinking. I woke up this morning and came downstairs. She was gone, the door was open, her suitcase was gone from her room. I don't know where she went," She paused to look Vash straight in the eye, "But I have a good idea."  
  
How was that for a prolouge? Yes, I know, it's shorter than all hell but I think it at least hints where I want to go with the sequel. I'm feeling moody and depressed so I'll be writing more. In the mean time, enjoy! 


End file.
